On the Prowl A prequel to Cat Noir
by MLaw
Summary: An explanation of the odd goings on with Illya in the story Cat Noir. pre-saga A very mild reference to het is made, nothing graphic.


The piano player at the Cat's Meow Club was tickling the ivory with abandon, beside him on the small stage, was a musician with a base viol joining the jazz riffs with enthusiasm, their combined talents were punctuated by the rhythmic stylings of a talented drummer, a madman named Buddy Rich.

Illya Kuryakin was sitting in the dark corner, dressed in his usual black suit and turtleneck, and sporting a pair of dark glasses as he tried to remain anonymous. He sipped a cup of cappuccino, nodding his head slightly in time with the beat of the music.

The Russian was in a rare mood, randy actually, though it was not his way to just go out and pick up a woman to satisfy his urges.

He looked up from thoughts, and that's when he saw a pair of long sultry legs walking towards him. His eyes continued following upwards, taking in the the contours of the rest of her... a raven-haired woman wearing a tight-fitting black mini-dress and a pair of high-heel pumps. She had curves in all the right places and. the most striking green eyes.

Illya found he couldn't take his eyes away of her.

It had been a while since he'd been with a woman, and it was rare that he found himself that attracted to a stranger. He preferred intimacy only after he knew the lady in question, as he usually wanted something meaningful other than just sex; an actual relationship suited him more than a one night stand. That was Napoleon's style, not his.

Illya's libido was calling quite loudly to him. He found himself wanting this woman very much, but surprisingly he didn't need to move an inch to go after her; it was if she'd heard his amorous thoughts, and came straight over to his table.

He looked her up and down again, studying her more closely and smiling at her, just slightly.

"Hi there handsome. Mind if I sit with you? All the other chairs seem to be taken," she returned his smile.

"Please, by all means, "he stood, pulling the chair out and helping to seat her.

She drew a cigarette from her clutch bag, and Illya was quick to take his lighter from his jacket pocket and light it for her.

"My aren't you the gentleman."

"I try...my name is Nick."

"Hi Nick, my name is Candy" She looked into those soulful eyes of his, finding them very alluring. "Is that a slight British accent that I'm hearing...but there's a touch of something else?"

He didn't flinch as he lied to her with ease."Yes, I was born in London, but my parents were from Poland."

"Dziękuję." That's all I know in Polish.

"You are welcome," Illya said in response.

Illya thought about saying something clever in regards to her name but decided against it, thinking that was what she probably heard all the time.

"It is a pleasure to meet you Candy."

She raised her eyebrows, just a bit in surprise. "What no remark about my name, now that's a change. Usually men try saying that's a 'sweet name' or something equally ridiculous."

"I try not to be commonplace." He smiled in earnest now.

Candy leaned in towards him. her voice practically purring, "No you're most certainly not. So uncommon Nick, I haven't seen you here before."

"I just discovered this place very recently," he said matter of factly.

"Let's cut to the chase Nick, I find you very attractive...and a bit mysterious.. Would you like to go join me for a drink?"

Illya didn't hesitate answering yes, and stepped up, helping her with her chair. They walked out together, Candy wrapped her arm through his, and as they passed the alleyway next to the club, she pulled him into the shadows and planted a long,seductive kiss on his willing lips. As he responded, her hands grabbed his buttocks, giving them a squeeze and he swore he heard her utter a low, almost feral growl.

That was when he felt a sharp prick to his butt. "Oh piekło_oh hell," he muttered, remembering to say it in Polish.

When Illya woke, he was sitting on a sofa in a very neatly appointed apartment, feeling as if he were hung over, but without the benefit of having gotten drunk. Or was he drunk? Everything was still a bit fuzzy.

He played possum, listening in to a conversation going on between Candy and another woman.

"You idiot, he's some sort of cop," the woman said, holding up his Special, and dangling it between two fingers.

'What does it matter, he was out cold when we brought him here. He won't know where we are."

"Fine then. let's do him, and throw him back."

"But I like him Pie, I think he'd make and good addition to our little clowder."

"I'm not so sure about that," Piewacket answered.

Well he's already been given the first two injections, the spell has been cast and he's starting the changes."

"No, just finish up with him and toss him back. We can't take the chance."

He heard footsteps coming towards him, "I know you're awake Nick, you can open your eyes. I knew it as soon as I heard your breathing had changed."

Illya finally opened his eyes; it was Candy, but she was different...her face now looked more feline in appearance and her green eyes had a definite eyeshine to them.

"Who...what are you?" He tried asking, but found his voice was gone, instead there was a wailing sound, something akin to the sound a cat made..

"Don't worry handsome, that's just part of the change." She reached out, slowly unbuttoning his shirt. Illya found he couldn't move as she continued take off his clothing bit by bit. Candy sat on his lap and began grinding against him, letting out a feral sound of satisfaction as he quickly became aroused. Straddling him with a purr, she began to move steadily and within minutes her undulations brought the both of them to climax. Together they both yowled their pleasure.

Candy pulled away from him, and reaching over, she gave him another injection this time in his arm.

"There'll be a few residuals, but you'll revert back to your normal self soon enough." she continued to purr in the afterglow.

Illya's gaze was drawn to a mirror she held in front of him, and the only image he saw was that of a black cat, with large golden yellow eyes. His heart was still pounding and his head beginning to spin as he passed out.

.

The sun was just beginning to come up when Illya Kuryakin awoke, finding himself sprawled out in the alleyway next door to the Cat's Meow jazz Club. He was dressed in his black suit and turtleneck, and he held out his hands, rotating them slowly examining them carefully as he counted his human fingers. They were all there...

He ran them through his his hair, feeling bewildered, when a panicked thought hit him; reaching for his shoulder holster he breathed a sigh of relief when he found his weapon still safely cradled.

Illya took a quick inventory, finding everything in his pockets that belonged there and finally stood, using the brick wall to support himself. He was a bit shaky on his feet, and had a mild headache; one he would have gotten from having a little too much to drink. He didn't recall drinking, nor much for that matter...

"What the hell happened to you Kuryakin?" He asked himself, as he stepped onto the sidewalk and whistled for a passing taxi to stop. Illya gave the driver his address and after arriving home, he was greeted with a loud hiss by the black kitten he'd been fostering.

She seemed rather upset and ran off, hiding under the sofa, and he thought that was very out of character for her. He wondered what set her off...

Illya went into his bedroom, stripped off his clothing and stood in front of his floor-length mirror, examining his body. There was nothing, no signs of needle marks, or bruising; his skin was clean.

At this point he started to think it had been a bad dream, as he could come up with no other reasonable explanation for what he thought had happened. Perhaps he'd gone for those drinks with the woman after all and she slipped him some sort of mickey. He thought he'd had sex, but he really wasn't sure.

The Russian decided this would be the last time he'd go on the prowl for a woman, and crawled naked into his bed and beneath the covers with a sigh, taking a long stretch before he settled in to a nap.

Napoleon arrived just before noon, with the Sunday paper along with the usual assortment of bagels and pastries, and he found his partner standing in the kitchen, drinking a glass of milk.

"Since when did you start drinking that? I thought you reserved milk for that black beast of a cat. Where is it anyway?" Napoleon rubbed his arm, recalling the punctures she'd given one night when he'd stayed with his partner while his apartment was being painted. *

"I don't know, I just had a craving for it," the Russian smiled. "You did not happen to bring some lox with the bagels today did you?"

"Lox, no," Solo scrunched up his face at his partner's odd request."So how was your Saturday night, get lucky for once?"

"No," Illya lied, or was it a lie as he wasn't sure.

The kitten suddenly jumped up on the kitchen counter heading for the bar of cream cheese Napoleon had put on a plate and he swore he heard Illya hiss at the little black menace.

"You know chum, it's bad enough you slink around like one of these furballs, you need to stop it with these cats, you're starting to sound like one..."

.

* ref chapter 4 of Snapshots "Wild Kingdom.


End file.
